On an Empty Shore
by hauntedlittledoll
Summary: Sequel to "Our Darker Purpose." Title taken from Tom Stoppard's "Arcadia." Damian always runs from the past, but the past has a way of chasing after him. Maybe someday, Damian will let it catch up.
1. Prologue

_"When we have found all the meanings and lost all the mysteries, we will be alone, on an empty shore."_

-Tom Stoppard; "Arcadia"

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

His apartment had been vandalized several times over. Jason kicked some of the trash aside and pulled up the badly tacked-down carpeting. There was a pressure switch just to the left of the knotted hardwood and a slice of flooring promptly retracted. The biometric scanner still worked somehow. Jason's prints get him into the secret closet behind the bookshelf.

As he had once told Sasha, the only acceptable selfish use of billionaire funding is to add cliché secret rooms and passages behind every bookshelf.

It looked like his former sidekick remembered that little detail, and Jason was curious as to how she managed to get past the Batman, Inc. security. Scarlet had her ways, he supposed ruefully as he surveyed the closet. His armory had been cleaned out, and lipstick stained his spare helmet—not in the sweet-if-potentially-awkward evidence of a thoughtful kiss for a lost mentor, but rather all over the helmet in crude graffiti.

"Jackass" was written boldly across the forehead, with heavy rouge spots for the cheeks and a few anatomical sketches across the back that were rather good for having been drawn in lipstick on a rounded surface. From its pedestal, the mask stared back solemnly at Jason over the villainous cartoon mustache that had been applied.

Sasha had always been like the kid sister that Jason never had. He wondered if she was still out there after two years on her own; he'd have to ask Barbara if he ever went back to the Cave.

That wouldn't be happening anytime soon. Forced convalescing over the last week had left Jason with a distinct distaste for the Cave, Bruce's suffocating guilt, and Talia's demanding presence. If he didn't have such a healthy fear of Alfred, Jason would have made like Tiny Tim and bolted the second he could feel his legs under him.

Probably straight into a stalagmite or the giant penny, but it was the principle of the thing.

The shakes that came with withdrawal didn't make it any easier to take command of his body again after two years as a glorified puppet. Remembering that he could reach up and sweep his hair out of his eyes or scratch his nose was the hardest part. Remembering was the ticket as the shakes wore off and his limbs stopped reacting with intent to self-maim at the slightest step.

Jason had a lot of respect for his replacement making it out of the Cave without tipping anyone off inside of two hours. They hadn't heard from Tim since—good for the Pretender.

Jason had to sit, puke, and seize until the world righted itself while Talia al Ghul watched apathetically. He hadn't even gotten the privilege of the almighty slap that Stephanie had delivered upon making her first meaningful steps across the Cave.

Jason wondered how long the Robins' carte blanche would last before the big bad Bat put his foot down. It was a passive-aggressive move on Bruce's part to leave Talia's punishment in the hands of her victims, but he was in theory protecting the woman from her Father as they searched for the little runaways. Sooner or later, Batman would lose all patience.

Jason had run out long ago.

There were a few quick notes emanating from Jason's coat pocket—a birdcall on repeat—which Jason couldn't explain. He'd only been back a week, and never got around to replacing his cell phone let alone giving that number out.

It was a nice phone at least, high-tech and with a decent-sized keypad. According to the contact information, "Robbie" is on the line. Jason put the call on speakerphone as he flipped through some of the functions. His address book also has numbers for "Alvin" and "Constance."

"These toys your idea, Dick?" he asked, cutting off any attempt at polite conversation.

"Um, pretty sure it was Tim. We found ours under our pillows."

"Cute trick with the aliases … has he got me under "Miles" or "Rojo?" Jason began messing with the camera settings.

"My contacts are listed under various birds, and Steph's are Disney characters. You're Blue Jay and Aladdin, if you're still curious."

"Not sure if I should be offended or impressed," Jason returned, shuffling through two years of spam in his e-mail. "Was all the sass a pre-puppet thing or is this the baby bird's way of dealing?"

"It's a Tim thing," Dick answered, sounding pained. Jason wasn't known for pulling punches; Dick should be used to it by now. "Look, Jay …"

"I appreciate the Robin-line, Dick. I do, and who knows … maybe I'll use it from time to time," Jason shrugged generously. Probably only when drunk and/or in need of bail money, but he would set the ICE info so that if he gets in over his head, the others will be notified. That was almost team-friendly. "But …"

"Tim left us a text, Jason. He said not to contact him." Jason had spotted that little detail too. "He gave us the means to do so and asked us not to."

"So either listen to the pretender or don't, Goldie. It's not my problem." Jason meant that; Bats were crazy and the headgames never stopped. Jason might be a Bat, might fulfill that crazy requirement, but the world was a whole lot simpler outside the Cave.

"How the heck is the no-kill rule not your _very_ personal problem, Jason Peter Todd?" Dick snapped. "Ra's made him kill again, and Tim needs us right now. You think Bruce is going to _understand_? Did he _understand_ you?"

"Did you?" Jason hissed back. "If Tim wants us, he knows where to find us. You ever think that might be the reason he gave us the dang phones?"

There was a long moment of silence. Then Dick swallowed. "Tim ran away, and he doesn't always come back whole when he does that, Jay. He's gone, and I don't even know how to talk to Bruce with Talia … just with everything-Talia. And Damian's out there somewhere with the Demon's Head and an extremely dangerous child."

Jason snorted. "Says the man who turned the last assassin baby into a human being."

"What if Ra's is playing with him like Talia says? What if his clone decides he'd rather be with Talia than Damian?"

"I think Damian is the last person to underestimate a baby al Ghul, Dickie-bird," Jason returned matter-of-factly. "And Talia is about as reliable as Ra's al Ghul himself. If the kid is running, I say let him run. It's the first sane choice he's made, and it's the only attempt at self-preservation this family has ever seen."

"He's fourteen years old!"

"So was I," Jason delivered bluntly.

_Fourteen and Robin. Fourteen and angry. Fourteen and soon to be fired._

_Barely fifteen and dead._

"That doesn't have to be Damian," Dick choked out. "I can't let that be Damian. I can't fail again. Steph and I are heading out tonight. We're going to try to beat Bruce to the boys, and …"

"And what? Go on an adventure, hopping countries or the multiverse until Bats gets bored and stops looking? Bruce is pissed, Dick, and he's got good reasons."

"You don't believe Damian knew what he was doing, Jason."

"No, I don't. And if it makes you feel better, I doubt Tim does either. Talia's a broken record, and even Bruce knows that … but he's not going to get the full story until he finds Damian. So that's the new mission. 'The mission is what matters.' You can't just hide the kid away until everything cools down, Dick. Not this time. Whole world has changed; you'd be better off re-learning how to live in it."

"I can't do that."

"Then it's your funeral. I am _done_ with everything al Ghul." If Jason said it enough times, maybe it would come true. Even villains could have a dream.

"You're not going to help us?" Dick demanded, the hurt in his voice palpable.

Jason grimaced dragging a hand down his face tiredly and leaned back against the wall of his neglected apartment. "Do what? If the baby bats don't want to be found, they won't be."

"We have to try! Damian doesn't even know we survived!"

"And how do you think he's going to take it, Dick?" Jason growled. "Hey, kiddo, we were awake the whole damn time. Saw everything. Heard everything. The communal showers kinda sucked, but hey! As soon as you gave up on us, everything turned out okay."

Dick made a broken noise in the back of his throat. Jason shifted the phone to his other hand and waited for the inevitable scolding filled with hope. Something about it not being Damian's fault and the importance of trying …

"Jay," Dick choked out finally, "you can be a real ass."

Not exactly what the Red Hood had been expecting; Jason shoved the guilt down deep. "Look, if you and Blondie find the kid you can tell him that I said thanks. Or that I'm fucking sorry. I don't know—whatever you think the situation calls for."

"Jason …"

"Yeah, whatever, Dickie-bird," Jason muttered, ending the call and tossing his phone in the general direction of the bed. It sent up a thick cloud of dust. Jason tried to remember the last time he changed the sheets before Talia's little game. Then he exhaled slowly and reached for his defaced helmet.

Only to swear when he dislodged the mouse that had apparently taken to nesting inside it.


	2. Part One

The mark burned across Damian's back, curling smartly over his shoulder and teasing the soft flesh of the throat. He had not fought an opponent who used the whip with such skill since Gotham.

He gingerly brushed the laceration with his fingertips where it neatly bisected the bite scar from his last night in Talia's domain. The man-bat had left its messy mark upon the heir of al Ghul a little over a year ago, but the whip had cut through scar tissue just as easily as the unmarked skin.

One more for the collection then.

Damian refused medical treatment as he always did when conscious and carefully slid a clean shirt around his shoulders. His fingers followed the tiny buttons half-way before giving up, and Damian toed off his shoes immediately upon entering the upper levels of the house.

He liked the feel of polished stone under his feet.

Damian walked softly through the hallways. Their quarters were on the east side of the house, adjacent to the inner courtyard, and unless Benjamin had succeeded in persuading his caretaker to take one last jaunt outside … Damian could find his little brother safely in bed not six feet from Damian's own couch.

Lia was sitting in the living space that she shared with the brothers, drawing quietly as a radio softly played love songs in the background. She smiled up at Damian when she caught on to his presence, and raised a quiet finger to her lips—Benjamin was sleeping then.

He had made one request of Ra's al Ghul upon returning to his grandfather's side. He wanted a caretaker for Benjamin that had no connection to the League of Assassins or any other organization his family had a hand in. In fact, Damian wanted someone with no connections at all, someone who couldn't be threatened or bribed or frightened. With Benjamin in his arms, Damian had challenged Ra's: "Find me someone with nothing."

Within four days, they had Lia. Lia, a young woman in her twenties that had been so badly scarred by a childhood accident that her parents considered her unmarriageable, had lost her parents and younger brother in a car bombing as an adult. The same bombing had left her elder brother with scars ironically similar to Lia's own; the man had committed suicide. Her sheltered childhood had left her with only the most basic of schooling, and neither of her married sisters would take her in.

Ra's personally plucked her from the streets for one purpose.

She spoke no English when she arrived, but had told Damian in halting French of the man's careless offer. That Ra's candidly admitted he was what some would call a very bad man, but he had a cause that he believed in and adorable grandchildren. Wouldn't the young lady like to live a life in comfort while caring for them?

His grandfather merely acknowledged an interest in Lia's amusing chalk pictures when asked for his side of the story. So Damian accepted Lia and introduced her to Benjamin in this very room.

He had impressed upon his younger brother that Lia was Benjamin's responsibility, and the four year old had a duty to protect her throughout their travels. Damian would not have a repeat of the history tutor incident.

Not that Benjamin was studying history or any of his other subjects under Talia's orders. Children his age were still sorting out letters and words in most of the western world, and Benjamin had been studying history, politics, language, literature and mathematics. Damian commissioned Lia to give a few simple lessons every day to keep Benjamin from losing his easy literacy, but left suitable hours for the child to play with his animals and friends alike.

Benjamin's other training had virtually ceased unless Damian was in the mood to teach his younger brother something from his past. The little boy was already capable of lethal measures if not actively using them, and should any attempt an assassination in the house of the Demon's Head … well, Damian had not been nearly so lax with Lia's training.

Those delicate perfect hands could now wield a gun or knife as easily as that stick of chalk.

"Have you eaten, Dami?" Lia moved to put her things away, but Damian shook his head. He didn't care how badly burned her face was; to him, she was beautiful. "You should eat more," she scolded gently. "I will find meat for breakfast, and you will eat it if you know what is good for you."

Damian smiled. There would be meat on the table in the morning, but also fruit for his vegetarian diet. "If I knew," he acknowledged quietly. "Fortunately, I have you to tell me."

"The boy has wit enough to sass, he has wit enough to answer his little brother's questions," Lia returned smartly. "All day, he has been asking me: "When will Dami be home?" And all day, I tell him: "Soon, precious." Does he believe me? No."

Damian frowned. "I told him that I would return by Tuesday."

Lia sighed, and reached over to lay her hand over Damian's own. "Dami, it is Thursday. Why do you think your grandfather came looking for you?" She pulled him in to seal a quick kiss to his forehead. "Get some rest, mon petit ange. Morning will come soon, and Benji will wear you out all over again."

"Oui," Damian responded tiredly. "Goodnight, Lia."

"Sleep well," she bid him, settling back amongst the cushions with her work as a man crooned over the radio in her native language. "Dream sweet."

Damian didn't bother correcting her, content with the decree as she had uttered it. He let himself into the room that he shared with Benjamin—there were two others attached to their sitting room as well as Lia's, but Damian preferred to keep his brother close.

The younger boy didn't stir from his bed. Benjamin slept on his back, knees drawn up and one arm thrown carelessly over his head. His other arm curled around a stuffed bear that Damian had purchased in Germany nine months ago, and gripped the blanket close to his chin. One small foot hung over the edge uncovered, and Damian tugged the blanket over it automatically as he passed.

Damian crouched to place a kiss on Benjamin's forehead as he did every night upon tucking his little brother in. He had made a decision, and he would honour it by being the best brother that he could possibly be. Then he patted the stuffed animal once because ritual was ritual, and moved to change his clothing in preparation for bed.

He had not been asleep long before his mattress shifted under a child's weight. It was still dark outside Damian's window as he waited for his younger brother to make himself comfortable. Finally, Benjamin settled heavily on the older boy's stomach and poked Damian's cheek experimentally.

"Brother, are you alive?"

Damian snorted and made a mock attempt at biting the offending digit. Benjamin withdrew hastily before leaning close enough to brush noses with his older brother. "I was asleep," Damian grumbled, wrapping an arm around the boy's waist. "Now I am awake. Who is to blame, I wonder?"

"You were late," Benjamin whispered, rolling into Damian's grip and twisting small fingers into the hair at the nape of Damian's neck. It was getting a little long; Damian needed a haircut soon. "I thought you might have decided not to come back."

Damian sighed, and turned on his side in order to wrap Benjamin in both arms. "You are my little brother," he murmured into the boy's hair. "I will never let anything happen to you. As long as there is breath in my body, I will come back for you."

"What if you die?"

"Then I will return as a powerful djinn to protect you and Lia," Damian lied. "If you think they fear me now, imagine what they will say about the Son of the Demon when he can slip into their safe houses through cracks and stand immune like air itself to their fancy weapons."

"Some djinn are very small," Benjamin mused doubtfully.

Damian tweaked a lock of hair almost as long as his own—Benjamin was in dire need of a haircut too. "And some djinn are very mean," he returned. "But the only ones worth fearing …"

"… are the sneaky ones," Benjamin finished for him. "You would be a very sneaky djinn, Brother."

Damian hummed an agreement. "I would be sneaky and mean. And maybe small—small can be very useful, you know."

"Do you promise, Dami?"

"I promise. Now go to sleep, ahki."

Benjamin was quiet for a moment before wiggling free of Damian's grasp and sitting upright. "You forgot to kiss me goodnight, Damian," he accused, as accustomed to the ritual as Damian after a year.

Damian fought the urge to smirk. "I did not," he refuted with mock indignation. "I kissed you while you were sleeping."

"Then I should get a second one," Benjamin argued, "while I'm awake."

"Two kisses?" Damian muttered, "Plus the ones that you surely received from Lia? You will end up spoiled indeed." But he brushed the kiss across Benjamin's temple anyway. These were the things older brothers do.

* * *

Birdsong erupted inches from Dick Grayson's ear. He fumbled for a moment, but someone else's cellular flew at him before he could recover his own.

"I am not taking coordinates before breakfast," his roommate announced. Dick made sound approximating spoken acknowledgement and rolled out of bed. The blonde had disappeared under the pillows of the other queen-sized bed, and that was his cue to provide waffles ASAP.

The clock says 3 AM, but time is relative to world-traveling Bats.

Coffee first.

Dick fumbled with the settings of the machine provided by the hotel room, and wandered up to the global map that he'd pinned up in every hotel/apartment that came and went over the last year. Studying it for a moment, he picked out the coordinates from the text and tapped the map in thought. When he had coffee, the former hero flipped through the contact list for "Bernard."

"Timmy, remember that conversation we had about using your words?"

He could hear his younger brother roll his eyes from across the Atlantic Ocean. Dick leaned against the counter and savored his coffee.

"All I'm saying is that if you want us in the Middle East, a "please" would have been nice," Dick chided gently. "Manners are still a thing over in England, right?"

"Depends on the company," Tim returned. "_Please_ head to Egypt. There's a private jet waiting for you at the airport, and you have a room booked at Shepheards."

"Bird sighting?" Dick asked quietly.

"Last spotted in Lisbon," Tim answered quietly. "I have a confirmed body, and confirmed injury. My contact saw him picked up by the League."

"That's not good," Dick swallowed.

"On the contrary, we know that Damian's returned to Ra's for at least a day or so. He never leaves without first spending time with Benjamin. We also know that Ra's is currently housed in Alexandria."

"So why are you sending us to Cairo?"

"Because I'm sending Talia to Alexandria, and sur-"

"You're doing _what_?!" Dick demanded so sharply, that Stephanie started out of bed. He waved the blonde off, and got a raised eyebrow for his troubles. Dick left his coffee on the counter and flopped over the end of her bed, pressing speakerphone. "You're on speaker, Tim. Now explain."

"Every time Talia gets close, Damian takes Benjamin and rabbits," Tim obeyed with false-humor. "I have a breakfast date with Talia in exactly one hour. She'll get Ra's location out of me, and given the number of double agents folded into both Leviathan and the League of Assassins, Ra's will know in plenty of time for Damian to book it. His nearest safe-house is in Cairo; the two of you will need to head him off."

Dick stared at the phone, trying to process Tim on only half a cup of coffee. Stephanie found words before he did.

"I'm sorry," Steph began pleasantly. "But did you just say that you were siccing _Talia al Ghul_ on Damian?"

"I'm not—"

"You are having breakfast with a woman who gives new meaning to "Mommy Dearest" and sending her after what she wants most." Steph blew her bangs out of her face with an exaggerated huff, and Dick tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. He left it at that though; Steph could be touchy about her hair. "Nevermind the fact that we've been trying really hard to keep said-target out of her hands for over a _year_," Steph continued. Then she frowned. "How do you even know where Ra's al Ghul is?"

That was a very good question. Dick offered a fist bump that Steph returned without even glancing his way. The hesitation on the other end of the line didn't bode well. Tim was barely on speaking terms with his fellow Robins. Contact with Bruce was dicey on a good day, and Ra's was just as responsible as Talia for Tim's current state of mind.

"Timmy," Dick tried to ask gently, "are you working with Ra's again?"

"I wasn't working with him the first time," Tim bit off. "I'm not letting Talia get ahold of Damian or Benjamin. I'm not letting Ra's kill Talia. I'm just getting shit done."

Hearing Jason's language pop out of Tim's mouth was never going to be normal, but if the only former Robin permanently residing in Gotham could help Tim, then Dick will hold off on the swear jar. The Tim that had come back from Leviathan wasn't the Tim that had been captured.

"I have this worked out, Dick. I'll handle Ra's and Talia. Just … just go to Cairo and stop Damian, okay? I'm giving you a headstart."

"It's not much of one," Stephanie shot back. "And Batman will be right behind Talia."

"I have faith in your ability to evade debriefing," Tim snorted.

That was a dig at Steph.

Dick had refused to pick up where he left off with the cape and pointy ears—not without Damian. He couldn't be Batman until his Robin had come home again. At the same time, Nightwing didn't have the freedom to disappear and ignore all communication from the Justice League _or_ the Bat Cave. So Dick became something of a ghost in the machine. Unless Oracle took it upon herself to track him down, the only way to reach Dick Grayson was on the Robin-line.

Steph didn't have that option. They needed a link to Batman, Inc. They needed an excuse for their trip-without-end. So Stephanie donned the Batgirl uniform once more. She was their public face, and Bruce's scapegoat.

But the blonde never complained.

"Tim," Dick started to censure because Steph didn't deserve that. He didn't get any further than that disappointed use of his little brother's name before Steph hit the 'disconnect call' button. Dick shifted, and Steph rolled over to lay her head against his shoulder for a moment.

He'd gotten the chat with Stephanie that he'd promised himself … a few dozen times over. More than one night had been spent with ice cream and bad movies between leads. A fair few had been spent dispersing justice and working out their many problems with fists.

Damian was missing. Jason refused to leave Gotham. Tim refused to come back.

Steph and Dick had become the go-betweens.

It was a thankless job, but Dick couldn't see himself doing anything else. To be honest, he couldn't see Stephanie doing anything else either.

Gotham wasn't the same without all the Robins on her streets. Family and friends had moved on without them, and finding their pace never quite worked when they were always a step behind. Dick kept promising himself that when they had Damian back, it would be time to go home and rebuild.

With Tim's plan, Dick supposed it was time to find out if he could keep that promise.

He wasn't naive. It wouldn't be the same as before, but it would be a familiar presence in the passenger seat and Batgirl's chatter on the comm. It wouldn't be the same, but the Red Hood would be on the ground, and Red Robin would be high above them.

It was a pretty nice fantasy.

Dick left it at that, stroked Steph's hair, squeezed her shoulder, and rolled out of bed to get dressed and packed. They had a jet to catch and a baby brother to find.

In lieu of waffles, Dick let Steph finish off the coffee.

* * *

Lia woke them in the morning as always with a gentle rap on the door. If Damian wasn't home, she would enter and coach Benjamin through his routine as the little boy hated getting up. When Damian was home, dressing Benjamin was his responsibility.

The pain in Damian's back sharpened as he rolled over, but the teenager ignored the twinge and gave the younger boy a sharp shove from the bed. Benjamin landed in a heap on the floor taking all the blankets with him. It took a moment, but then sharp baby blue eyes peered over the edge of the low bed with the promise of vengeance. Damian smirked sleepily, issuing a challenge as he took back custody of his bedding and inadvertently began a tug of war match.

He reconsidered when Benjamin's eyes narrowed suddenly, but it was too late. His little brother abruptly released the blankets, temporarily burying Damian in the spoils of victory in order to shout: "Lia! Brother is bleeding all over the sheets again!"

Damian yanked the covers off his face, seeing the dark streaks of dried blood that had tipped off his little brother and cursing as Lia invaded.

"Dami!" she scolded, pushing him flat amongst the pillows with a firm hand to the small of his back. "What have you done this time? I tell you over and over—if you are hurt, you go to the doctors or you come to me. What a bad example you set for Benji like this!"

The little brat had taken the opportunity to curl up on the floor in a nest of stolen blankets—completely unconcerned by either the bloodstains or Damian's scowl—but his voice emanated from within the folds regardless. "Brother is a bad example," Benjamin parroted sweetly like the little traitor he was.

"It is nothing," Damian argued as she peeled his shirt back carefully. "She only got one lash in, and it was at a terrible angle too." The mark curled from just below the ribs on one side of his back to over his shoulder and around his throat. It was an ineffective hit to be sure, but that she had managed to tag him at all and from ground level too was just embarrassing. "It is just the one welt, Lia."

"One welt or twenty makes no difference. Infection scorns foolish pride," she snapped. "Go. Wash. I will tend when you are finished." The woman finally released him, and swooped down on Benjamin. "Come, mon petit démon, it is time for your breakfast." Taking the boy, blankets and all, into her arms, Lia bore the younger away still cooing to her charge.

Damian still found it a little bit funny that despite their names, it was the innocent Benjamin that Lia called her little demon while Damian, the assassin, was "mon petit ange" when in Lia's good graces—something that Damian would have to earn back now.

Peeling back the shirt a second time, Damian let first cold water run over the open skin to ease the sting before turning his shower hot. The cut had opened in the night ruining another shirt, but it didn't deserve the fuss that Lia would make.

Morning ablutions finished, Damian joined the others in the sitting area. Lia had his clean shirt off again before he could even reach for his breakfast, muttering dire predictions under her breath in her own language as she liberally applied disinfectant. Damian buried the curse word he itched to use in the melon from his meal.

Across the table, Benjamin regarded him quietly over a biscuit.

Although Damian's torso is a map of scarring from the last year in his grandfather's service, Benjamin's focus was almost always on the bite. Damian had never been certain what Benjamin remembered from that awful night and what had been dismissed as nightmares or even repressed entirely if Damian was lucky. A small part of the teenager was afraid to ask, so they continued ever onward.

"So careless," Lia murmured, smoothing gauze over the lacerated skin.

"Brother is the heir of the Demon's Head, Lia," Benjamin lectured idly as he tore apart his biscuit. "He has many enemies, but Damian isn't afraid. He is the Son of the Demon."

"The Son of the Demon could be a little more careful and save his friends the worry," Lia retorted, leaning across the table to plant a kiss on the little boy's head. "And you, you will stop tormenting the guards so that I don't have to worry for you either, mon petit demon."

Benjamin flushed guiltily, but before Damian could pursue the line of questioning left open to him, the teenager was silenced by a face full of fabric.

"Put on your shirt, Dami, and finish your breakfast. Then you will dress Benji. Choose nice clothes; he will be going with you."

"Grandfather wants to see both of us," Benjamin nodded, taking Lia's proffered distraction promptly. "Perhaps I will go with you on your mission," he suggested brightly. "We could fight together, and I would not allow you to get hurt."

Damian swallowed and took a sip of water. "Then who shall protect Lia?" he teased, not mentioning that his brother would only attend one of Damian's assassinations over his older brother's dead body. "I need you here to guard our home," he urged lightly, mimicking another's suggestion from a hallowed memory. Grayson had often diverted him with such nonsense …

… and just like that, Damian's appetite was gone.

He pushed away his plate, and held out a hand to Benjamin who looked torn between pride and suspicion. After a split second standoff, Benjamin shook his head and held out his arms to be carried instead.

Damian indulged his little brother.

"Grandfather never asks to see me," Benjamin confided quietly as Damian knelt to button the younger boy's shirt. "He sends me things, but he doesn't come to see me. Lia and I never go up to his apartments or down to the lower levels."

"We went at Christmas and for our birthdays," Damian countered, holding out Benjamin's vest. "Grandfather is busy," he tried, using the boy's own logic and words against him. "He is the Demon's Head, and he must run the League."

Benjamin's eyes stayed troubled, and he held out his arms to be carried once more.

Damian carried him all the way up to the corridor of Ra's al Ghul's private office. Then he set his younger brother down and crouched as if to straighten Benjamin's clothing.

He caught Benjamin's chin in one hand, and studied the pale blue eyes before him. "We are strong, we are clever, and we are together," Damian reminded Benjamin. "We are al Ghul and Wayne."

"But we are more than the Bat and more than the Demon," Benjamin cheered up a little at the altered mantra. The words that Talia had drilled into their childhoods were easily twisted to Damian's purpose. "We are the future."

Damian nodded, stood, and allowed them into the office.

"Good morning, Damian," Ra's greeted without looking up from his desk. Omniscience was a favored character trait amongst their family. "Congratulations on your success in Lisbon."

"Tt," Damian uttered shortly, crossing his arms. To his amusement, Benjamin mimicked the pose. "Was that supposed to be difficult, Grandfather?"

"There are poorer pockets amongst the League this morning," his grandfather acknowledged the supposedly-secret betting pool graciously. The assorted generals of the Demon's Head would exercise more care in betting against the Son of the Demon if they knew Ra's an active participant in the pool. "To which charity should I direct your winnings this time, Grandson?"

"The usual will do," Damian shrugged, letting the teasing roll off his back. "You wished to see us?"

"I know that you have only just gotten in, Grandson," Ra's apologized carelessly, "but I have a time-sensitive assignment for you."

"The target?" Damian asked quietly.

"A former protégé," Ra's shook his head sadly, as he passed a slim file to Damian. "At one time, he held great promise, but it would appear that the young man has forgotten how to play the Game."

The sparse nature of the file seemed to belie that belief. No photographs available, just a brief description of appearance in his Grandfather's hand. A penchant for the bo staff noted, and a London address.

"This falls under the jurisdiction of Batman, Inc." Damian countered, moving to hand back the file. He had an agreement in place with Ra's regarding the company run by his father; Damian performed the errands of the Demon's Head so long as Batman, Inc. remained uninvolved.

Damian had no desire to revisit the past.

"A rather well-thought out measure to avoid my retribution," Ra's admitted candidly, refusing the file. "But I have taken pains to ensure the agent in question will be otherwise occupied for the evening, and this breach of conduct requires swift and decisive action."

Damian considered a moment; the local agent should be easy enough to work around. He had done it before as a child. "Very well."

Benjamin had been very quiet up until this point, but no one could suppress the little boy's willpower for long. Benjamin _hated_ to be ignored. "Grandfather, what about me?"

Damian barely resisted the urge to step in front of the little boy when Ra's turned to his younger grandson with a satisfied smile. "Why … you will go with your brother of course. It will be like a vacation for you all."

"Absolutely not," Damian snapped, collaring his younger brother before Benjamin could further entrench himself in the schemes of the Demon's Head.

His grandfather continued pleasantly as if he hadn't heard Damian: "Lia will go with you of course to look after Benjamin while you are on business, but then you should have plenty of time to take in some of the sights. Perhaps a trip to Kent would be permissible; Benjamin has never seen your childhood home after all, Damian."

Damian's childhood home had burned to the ground when he was scarcely eight years old, and what few structures remained on the property were League safe houses. The teenager was at a loss for this sudden venture, and searched his grandfather's countenance for some kind of understanding. What was the old man thinking?

Ra's sighed in exaggerated disappointment. "It would be best to have small persons out from under foot while I entertain, Grandson. Surely, you could do your old grandfather this favor and take your brother to England for a day or two."

"Entertain," Damian echoed numbly, his voice betraying him.

"One of my daughters has decided to pay me a visit," his grandfather inclined his head gently as he continued unnecessarily. Damian _understood_—Benjamin shouldn't have to. "… and I mean to show her all the hospitality of the League."

"Mother?" Benjamin reached out for a handful of Damian's shirt, but neither Damian nor Ra's heard the question. "Mother is coming?"

"Tt," Damian managed, "I suppose it is rather neglectful on my part that Benjamin has never seen the British museum."

Benjamin tugged harder on Damian's shirt. "I don't want to see the British museum."

"Everyone should see the British museum," Damian returned in a tone that he _knew_ was too sharp. Benjamin curbed his tongue, but shot a resentful look at his elder brother as he ran from the office.

Damian barely managed the requisite pleasantries before following his little brother's lead.

* * *

Ra's watched his grandsons in the courtyard below with pride until a firm knock on the door roused him from the bemused memories.

"Enter."

The young man raised an eyebrow as he moved to join Ra's at the window. "You've given Damian his assignment then, sir?" Without waiting for a response, the newcomer began paging through the documents on the desk. "Odds are 50/50 on this one, Ra's al Ghul."

Ra's shrugged, watching as Damian lost patience and threw his younger brother over one shoulder to return to their rooms. He had already sent word to have their things packed.

"Just this once," the Demon's Head mused, "I don't believe I will place any money on Damian."

This startled the younger man. "You never bet against your grandson."

Ra's tilted his head, sparing a half-smile for his closest ally. "I never said I would bet on his opponent." He laughed lightly to reassure the younger man; for once in Ra's al Ghul's long existence, he could afford to be kind.

There must always be a White Ghost.


End file.
